


someone to look up to

by breakeven



Series: stony kinktober 2019 [8]
Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel) - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Anal Fingering, Daddy Kink, Dom Tony Stark, Dom/sub, Explicit Sexual Content, Hand Feeding, Kinktober 2019, M/M, Rimming, Sub Steve Rogers, Subspace, Sugar Daddy Tony Stark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-10-12
Updated: 2019-10-12
Packaged: 2020-12-09 12:21:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,390
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20994719
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/breakeven/pseuds/breakeven
Summary: Steve whimpers at the harsh tone of voice, frantic for touch but even more eager for the warmth of his daddy’s approval, “I take w-what daddy gives me,” he states dutifully, “I take what daddy gives me and no more.”kinktober day 10: daddy kink





	someone to look up to

**Author's Note:**

> i fucking suck at this writing every day thing and i'm so sorry lmao. i started this beforehand, didn't finish it in time to post on the day of because I was traveling, and almost laid in bed and refused to post. it would've been such a waste though and i already feel bad. i can't help but add too much background though, it's my greatest flaw.
> 
> title from "practice" by drake.

It’s hard not to feel a little out of place at events like this. Wealth oozes from the walls it seems; everyone is dressed to the nines is designer dresses and shoes, the hors d’oeuvres are made with $300 caviar, and Tony spends the entire night bustling through the crowds schmoozing and boozing. It doesn’t matter who they are or what their net worth is, Tony will set his charm on anyone. Even when he’s not a part of it, Steve can tell the moment in every conversation when Tony has convinced whomever he’s speaking to that he’s as cool as he thinks he is. He’s the most important person in the room and he knows it. Steve hides at the bar, avoiding eye contact with some of the more aggressive socialites in attendance, and watches the way Tony Stark works. There’s just something about the way he walks—casually elegant, quick decisive strides, shoulder pushed back—that catches the eye and make you want to watch. His eyes are always glimmering with mirth, like he’s always watching others laugh at his jokes. Tony talks with his hands too, bringing him back down to earth, turning him into a person, and the gravitational pull that surrounds him is stronger for it.

Steve would hate the guy if he weren’t caught in his gravity too.

They met at an art show. Tony and Pepper had been cruising a lot of galleries that season, trying to replenish the Stark collection to the best of their ability. Steve had begun to make a bit of a name for himself, at least in New York, so he’d been featured amongst some more popular modern artists despite his focus on hyperrealism. He’d been wandering around a bit, introducing himself to wealthy collectors, artists, and writers for websites and magazines, when he noticed a man being surrounded by photographers. No one but the press was meant to be taking photos, especially not with flash, so Steve had excused himself from the conversation he was involved in to walk over to the gaggle of people.

“Excuse me, folks,” he said, trying to sound commanding, “But unless you have a press badge, I can’t allow you to take pictures in here.”

The entire group turned to stare at him, various looks of disbelief coloring their faces. They had been slow to put away their smart phones and Nikons but Steve just kept giving his best disappointed, stern look and eventually they disbanded. The man and woman who’d been surrounded by fans turned to look at Steve, and suddenly he was hit with the full force of Tony Stark’s biggest grin.

“Thanks for the assist, Gramps,” he chuckled, looking Steve up and down appreciatively. Steve felt his cheeks warming but refused to acknowledge his own embarrassment.

“No problem,” he shrugged.

“We really appreciate it,” the woman (who Steve correctly assumed was the notorious Pepper Potts) had smiled warmly, “Who knew security would be necessary at an art gallery.”

Tony snorted, “This guy can’t be security. Look at ‘im. He’s just a hipster with a boner for rule following.” The once over he gives Steve is a little less lewd this time, however, no less blush inducing. Steve’s ears went red too. Tony seemed to notice and adjusted his jacket, grinned maniacally, and took a deep breath, as if preparing to do something reckless enough to make headlines. The mischievous look in his eyes hasn’t changed since then.

“I’m part of the exhibition, actually,” Steve clarified. He rubbed the back of his neck and ducked his head, just to avoid the look in Tony was giving. Steve was aware of his appearance, and he wasn’t surprised that Pepper had assumed he was security. He knew the kind of attention he drew and back then he hadn’t been used to it.

“You’re an artist?” Pepper gasped, “Give me your name!”

“Steve Rogers,” Steve introduced himself sheepishly. He stuck out his hand for Pepper to shake and before she could grasp his hand in hers, Tony stepped forward and threw his arm over Steve’s shoulder; and just like that he was Tony’s.

Now, he’s not nearly as easy to fluster and he knows exactly what people think when they see him. When he’s out with Tony he knows what they’re thinking, how they’re judging the two of them, how they lust after one or both of them blatantly. It’s corny and ridiculous and Steve has grown to hate being seen as Tony’s young artistic patron, so now he’s just the boring boyfriend that waits for the night to be over. He simply sips at his whisky and watches Tony from across the room, waiting for the moment they can finally be alone together.

Because no matter how much Steve hates these political ass kissing competitions, no matter how much he loathes having insecure business men and their soulless wives talk about his work like it’s a hobby, Steve doesn’t have any complaints about the sex that comes when everything’s over. Steve gets a few drinks in him and Tony gets drunk off the thrill of outsmarting no less than 150 people with barely any effort all; all that power turns him into someone else. There’s a side of Tony that he very rarely lets anyone see, that he reserves especially for Steve, and it always comes out on nights like these. Steve just has to wait until it’s his turn, and soon enough he’ll be under the scrutiny of all of Tony’s sweet, undivided attention. The thought alone makes his cock stir in his trousers.

Finally, nearly two hours later, Tony finds Steve. They had started the night hanging onto each other, Steve saying hello to the few people in attendance that he didn’t hate, but eventually they separated and Steve isn’t ashamed to admit that he was bored and lonely the whole time and is happy to be reunited with his boyfriend. He’s sitting on a bar stool when he feels a gentle tap on his shoulder and turns to find Tony standing there, his eyes gone dark and a grin on his face that’s absolutely uncalled for.

“Shall I take you home?” he asks, quirking a brow. He’s gorgeous in a dark maroon suit, black button down underneath, watch sparkling on his wrist. The perfect chocolate of his curls look darker than usual in this light, making his cheekbones stand out and his lips appear bright, bitten pink. His posture is casual but the expression on his face is anything but. Tony offers his hand to Steve and Steve takes it as he drops his legs and stands up from the stool he was warming.

“Yes please,” Steve grins. Tony moves his hand to the small of Steve’s back, gently guiding him through the thinning crowd of people.

“I’ve missed you, sweetcheeks,” he murmurs into Steve’s ear. His voice is low, gravelly, and he squeezes Steve’s hip as they make their way past photographers. They both duck, hiding their faces slightly, until they’re met by Happy with the Rolls Royce. Tony opens the door, allows Steve to slide in first, and then joins him. They’re mostly silent on the ride home, sharing small smiles and pecks on the lip, but not much more. Tony likes to let the anticipation build.

Low in Steve’s gut, arousal builds. He’s been half hard since his third glass of whisky, and that was before he caught sight of Tony running his hands through his hair, loosening the collar of his shirt. That was before he got to be close to him again and could smell the musky spice of his cologne, feel the strength in his grip as he held onto Steve. It’s nice to be in Tony’s sights again, it makes Steve feel like he’s in his care, under his protection, trapped in being possessed by the world’s most secretly possessive man.

When they reach the penthouse, Tony is done pretending. He doesn’t speak, but Steve can sense the change in him, and tony just points at the bedroom door commandingly. It makes Steve want to whimper, go down to his knees and beg to be used however Tony sees fit, but Steve figures they’ll get to that soon enough, so he follows his instructions. Tony doesn’t follow after him immediately, but that’s nothing new. Steve just makes his way to the closet and begins undressing. His section full of tailored suits is a lot less extensive and a lot more boring than Tony’s, so different that it’s almost comical. Whenever Steve looks over their things after a gala or dinner or banquet, he never feels like more of the sugar baby everyone assumes he is. On his side of the closet there are a few tuxedos, some suits in dark blues, blacks, and grays, three Rolexes, and multiple huge, chunky rings that are only ever worn by someone as unapologetically extra as Tony. The casual wear is no less opulent, all Fendi, Dolce & Gabbana, and fucking Balenciaga, and mostly chosen by Tony and Pepper. When he had moved in with Tony his wardrobe had consisted of mostly Brown hoodies, worn out blue jeans, and checkered button downs. Now Steve has a taste for Valentino. Almost nothing he owns wasn’t purchased by Tony, and they both like it that way; Tony likes seeing Steve dressed up in things he purchased, and Steve likes wearing things Tony has picked out for him. He feels owned, but in the sweetest possible way.

Steve is brought out of his head when he hears Tony cross the threshold into their bedroom. He slides his feet out of his polished dress shoes and walks into the closet to hang his own coat. When his eyes focus on Steve, now clad only in a pair of black boxer briefs, he fixes the younger man with a look that is simultaneously predatory and warm.

“Look at you,” he smiles, “Just gorgeous. Can’t wait to get my hands on you.”

“Me neither. Should I…” Steve trails off. Tony is undoing his cufflinks, looking regal, and he nods his head easily, already knowing what Steve was about to propose. Steve can see the way his spine is lengthening, the way he’s falling into his role. A shudder rolls through Steve’s body, from head to toe, and he wants to drop to his knees right there.

“Yes, baby. Two fingers of the ’78 Glenglassaugh for me. Do you want?”

“No, thanks,” Steve murmurs, beginning to turn away when Tony catches his hand and spins him back round to face him. His brown eyes are intense, appraising. Steve is blushing already. “Yeah?” he asks.

“What do you call me? When we play?” Tony asks gravely.

Steve clenches his toes in the plush carpet, “Daddy. I’m sorry, I won’t forget again,” he swears. Tony nods in approval.

“I know. You’re always such a good boy. Hop to it now,” he instructs with a pat on Steve’s rear. Tony doesn’t acknowledge him further, just expecting Steve to jump to follow whichever directions he’s been given. It’s the little things like that, the small ways in which Tony shows how thoroughly he’s possessed Steve, that make nights like these so delectable. Because Tony is always wealthy, he’s always just a little too much older than Steve, he’s always commanding and alluring, but he isn’t always _taking_ and _owning_ like this. He doesn’t always treat Steve like a possession.

Steve bustles around the kitchen quickly. He grabs Tony’s favorite crystal decanter and fills it. He takes a glass as well, pours exactly how much Tony allows himself to drink, from the fridge Steve takes some grapes, slices an apple, and places the fruit in a small bowl. He sets all this on a tray. Steve stops in the hall to turn on the AC as well, and then makes his way back to the bedroom, anticipation making the hair on his arms stand on end. His cock twitches in his briefs.

Sitting on the edge of the bed, missing only his coat and shoes, shirt mostly unbuttoned, is Tony. He’s scratching at his goatee, his hair is slightly disheveled; he’s perfect. Steve scrambles over to him eagerly, lowers himself to his knees and presents Tony with the tray. Tony takes the glass between his calloused, elegant fingers, and takes a long drink.

“Thank you, doll,” he sighs. Steve practically preens and presses himself closer to the ground. He doesn’t allow the tray to wobble and Tony certainly notices this “You’re absolutely perfect. Daddy’s gonna take such good care of you.”

And Tony always makes good on his promises. He feeds Steve bites of apple and grapes from his own hand, spreads the juice that drips from the fruit over Steve’s lips gently and kisses the sweetness away. His mouth tastes like the whiskey and Steve whines every time he pulls away. Steve’s dick is very interested in the proceedings, but he’s never allowed to touch unless Tony says, so Steve just kneels like a good boy and takes what his daddy gives him.

“I think that’s enough,” Tony tells him eventually. He searches Steve’s face, looking for something that he doesn’t find, because then he’s brushing his hand over Steve’s head and kissing his forehead, “Be a good boy and put all that down.”

So Steve stands on wobbly legs and sets the tray over on his bedside table. He wanders back over to Tony, his mind cloudy and ears filled with cotton as he drifts deeper and deeper into subspace. Tony pats the bed next the him and Steve climbs up, nuzzles his face into Tony’s neck, “I miss you daddy,” he breathes, “Been thinkin’ bout your cock all night,” he admits. Tony chuckles at him, ruffles his hair once more.

“Is that so honey? You sat at that bar daydreamin’ about having me inside you?”

“Yes daddy,” Steve’s eyes drift shut, “you’re all I could think about. You look so good in your suits.”

Tony reaches up to cup Steve’s jaw in his hand, stroking his thumb over the perfect swell of his cheekbone, “What if I’ve got other plans for you?” Tony asks. His thumb slips past Steve’s lips and into his mouth, just resting on his tongue until Tony pulls away. “Maybe I wanna play with my little boy for a while.”

“Anything you want daddy, anything at all.”

“That’s what I like to hear. Lie back for me,” Tony smiles, gently pushing Steve back on the bed. Steve goes easily, throwing his arms above his head as the other man balances himself on his forearms, hovering over Steve’s body. They make out lazily, Tony’s hands moving across Steve’s skin proprietarily, pinching and squeezing and caressing as he sees fit. Steve writhes underneath him, thrusting his hips in a desperate search for friction and getting none.

Continuing with his teasing, Tony moves to slide Steve’s underwear off of him, but avoids his cock altogether. He pushes Steve’s thighs back, leaving him exposed and vulnerable, just the way he likes. Tony arranges him so that he’s holding himself open and Steve mewls needily when Tony moves away to grab lube from the bedside table. Steve doesn’t want to be left alone for one second, he doesn’t want to be without Tony’s sure, calming touch. He hadn’t realized how strung out for it he was until right now, until they were on the precipice of overwhelming sensation.

“Please daddy,” he begs. He isn’t even sure what the hell he’s begging for, and the older man must know this because he gives Steve’s balls a mean flick as punishment. Steve positively wails, his body going taut.

“Be a good boy and wait, huh? What the hell did I tell you?” he demands.

Steve whimpers at the harsh tone of voice, frantic for touch but even more eager for the warmth of his daddy’s approval, “I take w-what daddy gives me,” he states dutifully, “I take what daddy gives me and no more.”

“And what do you say after?”

“Thank you daddy.”

“Thank me now then, since I’m the only one trying to make sure you behave yourself,” Tony scoffs. He’s spreading lube over his fingers, and Steve is momentarily distracted at the sight. Tony has such nice hands, such strong wrists, masculine, hairy forearms. He’s so powerful. Even though Steve may be more muscular and even taller, Tony is the strongest man in the room. Steve moans.

“Thank you daddy. Th-thank you for helping me.”

“Good boy. Now be still for daddy,” Tony commands, and with no further preamble, slides one finger inside of Steve’s tight asshole. It burns so perfectly, the sensation of pain singing through Steve’s nerves and putting him on high alert. He cries out, quietly whining with each movement until his body accommodates the stretch. Tony has arranged them so he’s lying on his stomach between Steve’s obscenely spread legs, gazing at his hole and his full, pink balls intently. Steve wants to be embarrassed, because it is kind of embarrassing to be looked at this way, but he can’t help but revel in it. Tony is looking at the most intimate parts of him, experimenting inside of his body like Steve is something to figure out, and the pride he feels at that overwhelms any feelings of shame. Soon enough, he’s trying hard not to press himself back against Tony’s finger, and just wait for him to do more.

Tony slides another finger inside of Steve not too long after and he groans softly, “Your hole is so pretty and pink, stretched around my fingers baby. You look so good like this,” and then he sticks his tongue out and circles the rim of Steve’s sensitive, fluttering hole. He’s very precise, spreading the warm wetness of his spit there and fucking his fingers in and out steadily until Steve is gasping and shaking.

“_Daddy_,” he moans highly, “Oh daddy that feels so good. Y-you feel so good.”

Tony pulls away to blow gently on Steve’s hole, watches it twitch, “I bet, baby. Hey, how about this, how ‘bout you play with that pretty cock of yours. Think I wanna watch my baby jerk off tonight,” he muses casually, and then gets right back to work, swirling his tongue around the soft furling muscle.

Steve quakes with relief; his dick is so hard and hot and aching, he could practically cry as soon as he wraps his hand around himself, “Thank you daddy, thank you so much,” he cries, and begins stroking eagerly. Tony hasn’t told him how fast he’s allowed to go, so Steve just lets himself have it, jerking himself fast and rough. His cock is wet with precome and he barely needs to spit in his hand to get himself wet.

Tony slides in a third finger then, prodding at the loosening muscles of Steve’s ass. He always starts off so tight but Tony is nothing if not determined, and he works the younger man open with dedication. He alternates between forceful, necessary strokes, and sweet rubs across Steve’s prostate with his fingers. Steve has gone practically cross eyed with pleasure, and it takes everything in him to not fuck himself back against the fingers fucking him open.

“Daddy!” Steve shouts, “Oh yes, please, like that. Open me up, yeah—daddy, I want more! Can I have more? I need it.”

Tony pulls away, and this time flicks Steve’s balls even harder, watches how the jump up close to his body, “What the fuck did I tell you?” he growls, using his other hand to harshly grip the base of Steve’s cock, effectively stopping his movements. The younger man stills instantly, his hand stops flying over his cock and he sobs in apology.

“You’re right, you’re right—oh fuck—daddy, I’m sorry. Whatever you want, sorry! I mean—” he yelps when Tony adds another finger, forcing him open and massaging over his slick, quivering insides, “_Thank_ _you_ daddy. Thank you for t-taking such good care of me,” he sighs.

Kissing over the twitching, pink whorl tightening around his fingers, Tony mumbles, “You’re welcome sweetheart. Put your hand back on your cock and come for daddy, hm?”

Steve does as told and comes so hard he barely remembers how to talk.

**Author's Note:**

> at the end of the month i may go back and 1) write the days I missed at the beginning and 2) write short sequels to some of the universes i liked the best. 
> 
> twitter: @starkbrncs  
tumblr: nataliabarncs


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